Ordinary
by wynnebat
Summary: Twenty-six glances into how two boys met, played copious amounts of Quidditch together, and fell in love. Harry/Oliver, SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

Written for poetry in her eyes' Alphabet Challenge, using previous words from Dictionary dot com's Word of the Day. Every drabble will be just under 500 words and leading up to a decidedly non-canon, slashy end.

(**aberrant**) adj. abnormal

Socially-conscious busybodies that they were, Vernon and Petunia Dursley frequently listened to the news. It wouldn't do to seem unaware of what was going on in the world, Petunia would tut, smirking at the neighbors who barely knew what a Prime Minister even did. When news of genocide and terrorism reached British suburbia, they covered ickle Dudleykins' ears while Harry listened freely. There was a special place in hell for those people, Uncle Vernon would say. Along with wizards, of course, and those sodomite freaks.

Knowing that there were child soldiers in the world, and child smuggling rings, and homeless children, made Harry somewhat grateful the Dursleys took him in instead of giving him to the milkman. Then they would tell him to clean the bathroom again and Harry wondered if homelessness was really all that bad. He rarely acknowledged the small part of his mind that told him there was something wrong with the way the Dursleys were raising him. That the programs on the telly showed caring aunts and uncles looking after their nieces and nephews, not forcing them to cook and clean like servants.

They didn't lock their nephews in cupboards, either, that small part of him said. Harry refused to consider it. The Dursleys had to have a reason for treating him badly. There was a reason for everything, even if Harry couldn't find it yet. He would know when he was an adult. For now, he had to repent for being freakish and abnormal.

Then Hagrid turned his world upside down, telling him that he was a wizard, that the things he did—changing his teacher's hair color, appearing on the school roof—was perfectly normal. That Harry wasn't going to hell with the terrorists, a nightmare that plagued his sleep constantly after seeing violence on the news. A little part of Harry broke that night, one that might have been his naivety for all he knew. If the Dursleys were wrong for hating him, then there must be evil in the world. Not just crazy people and ruthless killers, but the everyday evil that no one noticed, not even the people being abused. Maybe not even the abusers.

"I'm a normal wizard?" Harry asked, needing to know that he was normal in at least one way. That he would fit in at Hogwarts, that for once he would be treated like a normal boy. That he wouldn't be forgotten or bullied.

"Eh, to tell ye the truth, 'Arry, not exactly," Hagrid replied. He went on to tell Harry about Voldemort and the evil that still plagued the Wizarding world, the rampant racism and class issues. The only thing that Harry realized was that he would never be normal, not while he was the Boy-Who-Lived. But he would aim for a little bit of normalcy anyway, because if the Dursleys' treatment of him was wrong, then he needed to prove he could be normal, that he wasn't completely hopeless and weird.


	2. Chapter 2

(**brackish**) adj. distasteful

Hogwarts sometimes reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia's Victorian era dramas, where students at boarding schools were brought up to be exactly the same. They walked (_eins, zwei, drei! eins, zwei, drei_!) in rhythm like robots, faceless and uniform. Hogwarts was a wonderful place, his home away from hell, but Harry didn't think that people noticed he was a real person, not a robot or a hero. People were surprised when he was nervous, because why would he be nervous about anything after defeating You-Know-Who? Flitwick was disappointed that he wasn't better at Charms like his mother, and McGonagall had clearly hoped he might have some of James' talent at Transfiguration. Quirrell could barely talk to him, but praised him (_only him, always only him_) for his accomplishments during lessons.

Sometimes, Harry wished he were more like James Potter: brave, smart, kind. According to his teachers, his father was always confident. He would have been able to deal with the attention of being the Boy Who Lived. Harry didn't see himself as anyone special. He didn't deserve to be put on a pedestal for something he didn't remember doing.

Other times, he wished he were a real Muggle-born, no matter the stigma about them, so that no one would know his name. People had all these ideas about him, misconceptions and preconceptions, Snape with the worst (_he hated yer father, 'Arry_) and Neville with the best (_Gran told me bedtime stories_, his face bright red). They pulled him in different directions, piled rocks on him and made him walk, and the stress that he shouldn't feel, that he was too young to feel, made him weak. Hogwarts was beautiful and majestic, and a million times better than Stonewall High. Harry just wished Hogwarts would love him the way he loved it.

And then he discovered Quidditch.

He would thank Malfoy if he were a little less of an arse for showing him how amazing flying was. There were no rules, no safety nets, no one to look at him with hidden disappointment.

There was just wind in his hair (_between your ears_, Hermione told him with a smile) and freedom and blue skies overhead. He could almost touch the clouds. His heart pumped and his mind cleared. There was nothing in the world that could beat flying.

And then there was McGonagall and fear of expulsion and preferential treatment, but he didn't care because it allowed him to fly more. To fly on a team of people who loved flying as much as he did, who wouldn't expect him to be amazing because of who his parents were or his defeat of Voldemort.

His first love might have been Hogwarts, but it was Quidditch that stole it and kept him sane. And with Quidditch came Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood, self-admitted fanatic and amazing captain.


End file.
